


Talk To Me

by Avengerz



Series: I Hear Your Voice [1]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Black Panther (Comics), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Off-screen Character Death, Pre-Slash, T'Challa is a Good Guy, Wrong Number AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 05:55:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7156289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avengerz/pseuds/Avengerz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony's drunk and despondent after his parent's deaths, and the last thing he needs right now is the humiliation of accidentally calling some stranger instead of Rhodey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talk To Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written, as per usual, for a prompt on [tumblr.](anthonyfuckingstark.tumblr.com) Short and sweet.

It starts, like so many things in Tony’s life, with a drink.

Well, that’s not entirely accurate. It starts with _many_ drinks, first the Talisker that Obie leaves on the counter with his condolences, then the scotch hidden under his bed, then the cheap beer that Rhodey left in the fridge because Tony doesn’t even care about quality anymore, he just wants to not feel anymore.

He’s mostly successful, slumped on the floor, leaning against the bed with an empty can and an empty head. He stares at one of his astrophysics textbook, at the vague geographic shapes on its cover, and tries to find meaning in it all.

There’s a thump and a whirr and Tony almost falls over as something pokes him hard in the side. He turns and his brain can’t make sense of the blur of metal before him. Then it condenses to the helper AI he’s working on, still only basic programming and rough metal. Tony grimaces at it, at yet another of his failures, and it pushes something into his face. The phone.

Tony scowls as the AI drops it on his lap and rolls away. He doesn’t need to _call_ anyone, he’s _fine_.

He’s not. He picks up the phone.

Then Tony hesitates. Who to call, though? 911 seems a little too extreme, he’s not about to die (is he?) and he knows that most of his “friends” don’t care about him enough to come over. Rhodey’s out of the country on his first training run with the Air Force, and Maria-

Well, obviously he can’t call his mom.

Rhodey left his contact info somewhere, Tony remembers, and he spends a good five minutes staggering around the apartment, knocking over stacks of textbooks and rifling through papers in an attempt to find the elusive slip of paper he’d written the number down on. Finally, he finds it pinned by the coffee maker in the kitchen. He collapses on the couch in the living room with his prize, the phone, and another beer.

The numbers blur in front of his eyes, twisting and dancing into things that don’t even vaguely resemble the latin alphabet. Tony squints and painstakingly keys in the country code (is that a six or an eight?) and only pauses once to crack open the beer before he hits ‘call.’

It rings, tinny, against his ear, and Tony stares blankly at the closed blinds over the apartment windows and sips his beer. It rings and rings and Tony’s about to resign himself to a night of drinking alone when it clicks.

“Hel-”

“Heeeey Rhodey,” Tony slurs, trying to project some cheeriness into his tone because he’s not _pathetic_. “I know you told me not ta call you unless it wassa comp’ete emergency, but this kinda is? I mean, my paren’s just died in a car crash!” He forces himself to laugh and spares a moment to be glad that Rhodey won’t be able to see the tears sparkling in his eyes. “Y’know how I, how I feel ‘bout my old man, but mom-” his voice breaks, and Tony takes another swig of liquid courage. Rhodey is silent, just listening, which isn’t really like him, but Tony appreciates it. “He was drivin’, y’know, and I don’t- I don’ know if he was even sober. He could have- he might have killed my mom, Rhodey!” He takes another swig of beer before throwing it across the room. The mostly-full can hits a lamp, and Tony watches as it falls to the ground and shatters.

“I’m becomin’ just like him!” Tony whispers into the receiver. He feels something like despair clawing at his throat.  “I know- I know you say I’m not, but, but I’m gettin’ drunk an’ destroyin’ things and if I ever had a kid I’d probably fuck ‘em up too!” He hangs his head, panting heavily into the receiver.

Silence reigns, and Tony aches for Rhodey to talk, to condemn or absolve him.

“I am sorry,” the words finally come, and Tony’s head shots up because that is most certainly not Rhodey, “for your loss, and for the fact that you appear to have dialed the wrong number.”

“Fuck,” Tony says, and the word comes out strained. “Right, sorry, I’ll just- bye.” He lowers the phone and fumbles at the keys for a moment, trying to end the call, but the voice, tinny and quiet away from his ear, stops him.

“Wait!”

Tony stares at the phone for a moment before he slowly raises it to his ear again. “Yeah?”

“You are in mourning,” the guy’s voice is rich and smooth and a part of Tony relaxes at it. “I would not have you mourn alone, even half a world away.” Tony doesn’t know what to say to that, and he continues. “My name is T’Challa.”

Tony clears his throat. “‘m Tony.”

There is a smile in T’Challa’s words. “It is good to meet you, Tony.”

“Yeah.” Tony sighs and relaxes back into the couch. Already, something in him has settled, and his fingers no longer itch quite so badly for a drink. “Good to meet you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to hear feedback!
> 
> You can come say hi on my [tumblr](anthonyfuckingstark.tubmlr.com) or send more IronPanther prompts to the new imagine blog [ImagineIronPanther!](imagineironpanther.tumblr.com)


End file.
